


Auld Lang Syne - A Story for New Year's Eve

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A unexpected encounter with an old friend brings a host of complications to Craig Garrison and his team. Two men, caught up in old memories.  What happens when fond memories crash headfirst into a harsh reality?





	Auld Lang Syne - A Story for New Year's Eve

Anthony Annapolis - the one Craig had razzed about his name, saying with a name like that, it seemed the tall handsome teenager was obviously destined for the Naval Academy. Meeting him now, on the streets of London, had seemed like a dream come true. He'd been thinking about those days just recently, remembering them with a fondness he'd never lost. Now, here he was, just as brash and good-looking as he'd been there, still with a warm smile and a clap on the shoulder like Craig had always known to expect from him.

Obviously life was treating him well. He seemed fit, and was sporting a hair cut that obviously had not come from a run of the mill military barber. Craig noted that the suit and shoes his old friend was wearing would have met even with Actor's discerning approval. They quickly adjourned to a convenient local, to laugh and get caught up on the intervening years. And if there was much Craig had to leave out, considering the job he was doing and all else, well, it was much the same for his old friend. Still, it was a good afternoon, and when they parted, it was with a promise to get together again before Anthony left to go back to the States.

Craig left his contact information, and drove back to Brandonshire thinking about their early years together. Occasionally a chuckle would cross his lips, a smile frequently would appear, and he looked forward to their next meeting. He wasn't sure how Anth would mesh with Garrison's wild card cons, or the Dragon, but for himself, well, he was looking forward to reminiscing over some of those old times.

They'd gone to high school together, at least the last three years, after Anth had transferred in from some place back East. They had quickly become best friends, Craig's parents having unaccountably taken a liking for the polite and respectful young man. They had talked about just about everything. Played on the same basketball team, the same baseball team. Dated the Green twins for awhile, Anth laughing about maybe swapping halfway through the dates "just to be fair". Even dated the same girl once, Melanie Gibson, though both had dropped her once they figured out she was two-timing them with each other and the captain of the football team. They'd alternated being top of their class, Craig winning out their sophomore and senior years, Anth taking the laurels their junior year. Their friendship survived all of that. They had lost touch, though, after graduation, Craig heading for college and West Point; Anth, as Craig called him, had headed back East, to help with the family business. "Later, maybe next year, I'll get started with college. We'll meet again, no doubt about it. Good friends always do, you know."

 

It had been another three weeks, the team just back from a mission to France, when the call had come from the Pub.

"Got someone here, Lieutenant, says he's an old friend. Didn't want to send him up without a warning. Told him I'd make a call, see if I could locate you."

Garrison had laughed, told Lou he'd be there shortly, and took off for The Doves just as soon as he'd showered and changed clothes. That was the first of the two evenings he spent down there, talking over old times, laughing, sharing a pitcher of warm beer, him telling Anth that he might as well get used to the experience if he was going to stay in England very long. He'd introduced the guys that first evening, but he and Anth kept to their own small table in the corner, that night and the next.

By Friday, Garrison had invite his friend up to the Mansion, Friday and Saturday nights at the pub tending to be loud and rowdy, not being conducive to quiet conversations. Anth had showed up around 3pm, just in time to meet the guys as they came drooping in from a combination of obstacle course, running the track and a little impromptu hand-to-hand exercise. He'd met them before, of course, and if he'd been polite then, he hadn't seemed overly impressed. The picture they presented now, dirty, sweaty, and grumbling, didn't seem to improve his general opinion of them, but he didn't say anything, just gave Garrison a wry glance and a laugh. Garrison had snorted, "yes, well, I'll admit you aren't seeing them at their best," getting a "no, I suppose not," in return. Goniff had been muttering as they trudged toward the Dorm, "yeah, well like to see 'im let the Sergeant Major put 'im through 'is paces, see 'ow well 'e'd stand up." The others had seemed to agree with that, or at least that's how Garrison interpreted the variety of noises the other three had made.

They'd been in the Library, talking over old times, too engrossed to see or hear the storm settling in. By the time Anth was ready to head back to the Pub for the night, it was a raging mess outside, and he'd gladly accepted Craig's invitation to spend the night. 

The guys had heard them, off and on, from the Common Room, talking, laughing. It was still going on when the team had answered "yeah, yeah!" to Sergeant Major Rawlins' insistent call of "lights out, you rascals! And in ten minutes, not an 'our, and no, I aint reading you no bedtime story!" They'd laughed at how the non-com had purpled up at that sly request from Goniff the night before!

"Seems they 'ave an awful lot to talk about," Goniff offered from his cot.

Actor responded, "they have a great deal of catching up to do, Goniff. It appears they have not been in touch since their school days." 

Casino snorted, "still seems a real giggle, you know. The Warden and Tony Napoli, old high schools chums. Shit, you just never know, do you?" 

There was silence, while the others frowned in bewilderment at that.

"Thought he said his name was Annapolis, Anthony Annapolis," Chief offered.

"Annapolis my ass! He's Tony Napoli, youngest of Don Gino Napoli's kids. Heard he got shipped away somewhere in his teens when the shit hit the fan over the oldest boy. Guess he ended up in the same place as the Warden; well, had to go to school somewhere. Have to say, of any two guys becoming chums, that's a pair I'd never have guessed. Hell, from what I heard, even as a kid, Tony had one hell of a temper and not a lot of control over it. Grown men walked careful-like when he was around. Word was he had a hand in what happened to those two that set his oldest brother Angelo up for the hit. Naw, not someone I can see the Warden pal'ing around with."

Goniff frowned into the darkness, "think we need to tip 'im the wink? The Warden, I mean?"

"We'll see how it goes, Goniff. If he's just here for a couple of days, and it's strictly old-friends type of reminiscing, it possibly won't be necessary," Actor answered.

Casino admitted, "well, it's a little late for that, anyhow. Fraid I already spilled the beans, once I knew for sure. Don't think he believed me, though."

While none of them were totally comfortable with that, none of them were any too eager to pull the Lieutenant aside for a little additional dose of reality. Like Actor said, it just might not be necessary.

 

The guys had come out of the Dorm the next morning in answer to the Sergeant Major's bellowing from the bottom of the stairs, just in time to see Craig's old friend departing his bedroom, still tucking his shirt into his trousers, throwing a casual, "see you downstairs, Craig, and I still say you need a new mattress!" back over his shoulder as he left. He'd cast a fast glance over toward the guys, but didn't say anything to them, just gave them a quick nod on his way toward the landing. Garrison had been not three steps behind, so the guys were still there when he exited his room.

Craig later thought it had just been a matter of his extreme good fortune that he'd looked at Goniff at just that moment, in time to see that flash of emotion, because the slender Englishman immediately covered it with a hasty version of his usual 'cheerful but none-too-bright' persona that he tended to fall back on, the one that said 'just ignore me, I aint nobody, in fact, I aint even 'ere.'

Now, Garrison admitted he himself wasn't always the sharpest nail in the box, at least outside his chosen profession, often quite wilfully denying the obvious, but he was really trying to work on that. And he'd learned a lot watching Goniff and Meghada work their faltering way through the various misunderstandings and misapprehensions that had marked their particular journey to a more settled relationship. If he listened carefully enough, he could even hear his mind repeating one or two of those lectures he'd given their resident pickpocket, along with those handed out by the other team members. Somehow the words, "you can't just let it lay there and fester, Goniff! Just deal with it, now, before you let it grow to something worse!!" kept coming out loud and clear.

Now, taking one more look at that outwardly cheerful, inwardly shuttered face, he knew he couldn't hesitate, couldn't put this off, no matter that they were still at the Mansion, surrounded by a host of possible interruptions. Goniff was retreating rapidly, mentally, emotionally, even though a physical retreat hadn't been possible.

"Alright, to the Firing Range, I want a full workout, and the scores had damned well be better than the last set," he barked at the team, and yelled down the stairs for Sergeant Rawlins to lead the men out. When they'd all gotten past, Goniff trailing, Garrison had reached out an arm and grasped that wiry shoulder, "not you, Goniff. You and I have a little something to discuss," his voice hard and unyielding. The others looked at each other, wondering just what their team mate had gotten up to this time, but the bewilderment seemed equally present in each of the three headed downstairs and out to the Firing Range.

Casino even groused as they headed out the front door, "damn Limey! Wonder what he got up to? You'd think he'd've let us in on whatever fun he had!" 

Actor soothed him, "most likely Goniff let his sticky fingers get away with him again, Casino. There was a call from Regent University last night; that's right around the corner from where we were pulling that little snoop-and-snitch job last week. Perhaps Goniff went shopping again."

Chief didn't respond, but took a quick look back at the big ugly house. He had a feeling this was something quite different. He just hoped the Warden had figured out the problem and was going to fix it, not make it worse. He had a really bad feeling about all of this, had since the Warden had introduced them to his old high school buddy and Casino had spilled the beans about who he really was. There was just something hanging in the air, like a storm waiting to hit.

 

Garrison waited til he heard the door close below before he leaned in, resting his forehead against Goniff's for just a moment, before leaning back and using the side of his fist to gently tip the shorter man's face up to where their eyes could meet. Garrison's voice was quiet and low, no longer impatient and harsh.

"He's a friend, Goniff. Since high school. We were close, told each other pretty much everything. But that's all, a friend. Never more, not like you're thinking. Last night, we had a couple drinks, talked til we couldn't stay awake. Came upstairs and had another drink and talked some more. We fell asleep talking. There was nothing more."

Did he really have to say it? He'd thought Goniff knew, but maybe not. He knew what he needed to say next, had the words ready, already heard them in his head, {"There was never anything more, not with any other man, not before you."} 

He would have said those words, maybe Goniff would have said something too, at least once he'd come unfrozen. But Anth had swept around the corner, broad grin on his face.

"Hey, Craig, how about we . . ." The rest of the words went unspoken as the congenial look changed in a flash to something else, something hard and ugly as he quickly looked from Garrison to Goniff and then back again. The look was only there a second or two, and if Garrison hadn't been looking at him directly on, he would have missed it.

{"Must be one of my more observant days,"} he thought to himself, ruefully. {"First Goniff, now Anth."}

Garrison backed away, his voice crisp, impatient once again, "now get to the Firing Range, and this time, keep your eyes open! You barely missed the Sergeant Major last time, and I doubt he's forgotten!"

He turned to his old high school friend, the movement effectively dismissing the blond Englishman who took the opportunity to dart away and down the stairs.

"Now, you were saying, Anth?" with a warm smile, seeing that look of comradeship reappear, that look he'd appreciated so much during their teen years. There was a time when he would have accepted that look, dismissed what he thought he'd seen earlier, but he wasn't that naive, not anymore. He'd pulled too many cons himself, seen too many from his guys, too much manipulation up at HQ. No, now, the story Casino had told him didn't seem so totally unbelievable. Exaggerated, surely, but not TOTALLY out of the question.

"Maybe that's what you knew him by, Warden, but in the old neighborhood? That's Tony Napoli, sure as I'm standing here. Yeah, heard he spent some time somewheres else, under a different name, after some trouble, but that's him. Been gradually taking over the smaller parts of the business for the old man, what I've heard; his older brother, Nicky, he's working the bigger parts for now. Woulda been the oldest brother Angelo, but he ended up on the wrong side of a bad deal, so it's just the two of them now. Oh, by the way, better keep Goniff outta his sights; that could get nasty real fast. No, don't know the details, something to do with his brother, but word is Tony has a real hate on for Brits. Not all of them, but just seems to take a dislike to one every now and again, and it don't end up good when he does. Don't know what he's doing here in England, but can't be having tea and crumpets, that's for sure! He's not exactly a member of the diplomatic corps!"

Garrison had pretty much discounted all of that, remembering the boy, then the young man he'd shared so much with. Now, his memories collided with his reality, and that collision was bound to leave some bruises.

 

Anth was due to leave to head back to London the next day for some meetings, stopped in for coffee and suggested Craig go along.

"We could have some fun, just like the old days," and somehow the temptation of recapturing those good times held sway. He made a snap decision and, after telling Gil Rawlins where he was headed, piled into the car. He'd make sure they stayed at Marchant's; that way he could be located if HQ needed him. 

Anth was doing the driving, "now that I've gotten the hang of driving on the wrong side, it's not so bad," and they'd talked awhile, laughing over old times. Soon though, they switched places, and though they continued to talk some, Garrison was soon left listening to soft snores from the passenger side and thinking about the past few days.

While it had started out smoothly enough, except for that odd moment in the hallway the morning after the storm, the interaction had soon become somewhat strained. Oh, not all the time, certainly. And he was sure that little snippet he'd overheard Anth saying to Goniff at the pub hadn't been anything important, just a brief tail end to some previously unheard conversation "and don't forget." He'd been going to ask Goniff about that, but his resident pickpocket had kept his distance the rest of the evening, and by the morning, Garrison had forgotten all about it.

Still, his visitor had taken to dropping some uncomfortable little comments into their conversations -

"Gotta watch out for those Brits, Craig, including that one of yours; untrustworthy, most of them."

"Whores, more than a few of them, Craig, women AND men. Can cause more trouble than a rat in the pantry."

"Doesn't it make you a little nervous, having a sneaky little bastard like that around, Craig? Don't know how well I'd sleep at night, knowing he was just down the hall." 

Garrison had found himself biting his tongue more than once. He felt guilty for that, feeling he was somehow betraying Goniff by keeping still, but felt just as guilty when he took his old friend to task for such comments and saw that quick hurt come to those dark eyes. 

{"He doesn't really mean anything by it, not really. Just some of his old baggage. He'll be gone soon enough; no need to make an issue of it."}.

There were so many good memories, so many shared adventures, so much else to think about. He drove in the silence, and smiled as he thought back to those days.

They'd climbed to the top of the water tower when they were fourteen, that being strictly prohibited, of course; had sat up there smoking cigarettes and sharing two even more prohibited bottles of Jim Beam. Oh, not a bottle-bottle, those tiny sample bottles the salesmen traveled around with. But, still . . . They'd thought they were being brave and daring and just waaaay the top dogs for doing so.

They'd double-dated the Montclair sisters once, neither young lady being the shy or reserved type, and Craig remembered being embarrassed at the three teasing him about his insisting on using condoms. Turns out he was the only one supplied, and he only had one in his wallet, the same one he'd carried since he started high school. Well, by the time the argument had ended, the moment had passed with the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Monclair on the front steps, and he didn't have to see if the doggone thing was still any good (not that he was any too sure how a person could know). He never admitted to anyone, even himself, that he was more than a little relived at their unexpected arrival three hours early. Anth had showed up the next day after school with a long strip that he'd insisted on sharing half-and-half with Craig. "Hell, about due to get a new box anyway," he'd bragged, "go through one about once a month", and Craig had just laughed, knowing HE'D never be able to get away with a brazen lie like that. He dropped the crispy and faded package from his wallet into the very bottom of the outside trash can before he lowered the kitchen trash on top of it. Now he had not one, but three new ones tucked into his wallet. He might not plan on using them, but it was an oddly satisfying feeling knowing they were there.

They'd helped bring their basketball team in for a Regional win, and had shared an illicit bottle of wine, or maybe two or three, with the rest of the team afterwards. He remembered he'd gotten a lecture from his parents about participating in out-of-town sporting events if they were going to leave him too tired and wan the next day to head off to school on time. Luckily he'd finished puking up his guts before he got home; they would have grounded him for six months otherwise.

There had been other times, some daring, some silly, some that brought a faintly uncomfortable frown to Garrison's face now, looking at them from a slightly more mature perspective. And the look on his old buddy's face there in the hallway when he'd stumbled onto Garrison and Goniff in the midst of that interrupted conversation kept coming back, along with all those snide remarks since then. He took another quick look at the man sleeping in the passenger's seat, wondering just how well he really knew this man he'd once called his best friend.

Henri Marchant had been able to come up with a couple of adjoining rooms, had nodded when Garrison had told him "come find me if anyone comes looking."

"But of course, Lieutenant."

Anth had laughed, a little too loud, "but don't come looking too hard, okay, Frenchy? We're planning on having some fun!"

Craig had given Henri a look, to which Henri had responded with another nod. No words were needed - Henri would come looking just as hard as necessary.

"You always this much of a stick, Craig?" Anth had quizzed him with a slightly disapproving smile.

"I've got a job to do; that hasn't changed just because I'm in London with you," was the calm response he gave. Somehow things were just a little off between them after that, and never really dropped back into the same groove.

They hit a few of the night spots, Anth complaining about things shutting down so early. The explanation of 'there's a curfew on', didn't appease him, and he started talking about how in Chicago and New York and Miami you could party all night til dawn without anyone thinking to tell you any different.

"And they try to give you any lip, they get a big fat one in return, and they stop, you know??!"

Anth had had more than a little to drink by the time he made that smug statement, and between that and a few other little incidents, Garrison had little in the way of grounds to set Casino's story aside.

He was more than a little wasted when they each went to their rooms. He poured himself into bed, sighed, and decided he'd head back to the Mansion tomorrow, figuring he could come up with some good excuse. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn't convince himself that he was having any fun.

The sound of the doorknob turning, the door opening brought his head up off the pillow, groggily trying to bring himself awake. A reassuring and familiar hand on his shoulder, a quiet, "ei, Craig. Wake up, now. We need ta . . ." ended with a bounce of the bed and then a solid thump as something or someone crashed into the wall. He struggled to get his head clear, shaking the mist away.

"Thought I got my message across before, guess you're just too damned stupid to listen! Well, I'll tell you again, you need to pack your bags and get lost, permanent. You don't, I can arrange it easy enough. In fact, I think I just might do it anyway! Yeah, I like that idea a whole lot better!" and there was a hard thud, and a gasp, and suddenly Garrison was on his feet, the light on and he was pulling the raging Tony Napoli off Goniff, who was sliding to the floor, blood streaming from his mouth, clutching his stomach.

Henri Marchant was there with one ring of the in-house phone, Gil Rawlins right behind him. It was one confused mess, and it was more than a few hours later when Garrison was able finally sit down over a strong pot of coffee and try to make some sense of the whole string of events. 

"Wouldn't 'ave sent Goniff up after you if I'd known it would be a problem, Lieutenant, but Major Richards was wanting to start briefing the others on the new job, and since Goniff's part wouldn't 'ave been as tied down, more spur of the moment, you know, 'e sent the two of us to find you. Phone lines around the city aren't working right now, and we couldn't get through to Marchant's in order to fetch you that way. I was settling up the tab downstairs, figuring to save some time while Goniff fetched you." Rawlins was looking worried and more than a little guilty, though he had no reason to, not that anyone else could see. 

Garrison had heard the story by then, Angelo Napoli, Tony's oldest brother, having been lured and conned by an East End girl, then, when he'd found out and beaten her bloody, had been killed by her and her partner. Tony had been thirteen, but it seems had joined in the revenge killing; according to him, he'd been the one to plan it, had personally strangled the woman. There had been other details, and Garrison's stomach was still roiling from hearing those, especially on top of the booze from the night before, and the sight of his pickpocket sprawled on the floor, bleeding on Henri's carpet.

Tony's eyes hadn't been entirely sane when he'd told the story. They hadn't been any more sane when he'd explained to Garrison that "I was just protecting you, Craig. Just like in high school. Nice kid, but you never were any too bright; plenty of guts, but way too nicey-nice to survive without a little help, not unless you wised up some. That Tessie girl, she'd have conned you good; saw how that was going. Told her a few home truths, her and that father of hers, and he saw the light. Packed up and left town after just a warning or two." Craig remembered, slightly sick to his stomach again. Mr. Favor, Tessie's father, had been beaten up, his store set on fire; no one had ever figured out who'd do such a thing, and the Favors had moved away before the debris had even been bulldozed.

The venom continued for longer than Craig had wanted to hear, ending with a "and just letting yourself be set up again! Don't know what he was gonna pull - the old badger game, a little blackmail, who knows with his kind! I tried to warn you, his kind, you don't let them anywhere near you! Just like what my old man always said about the Irish and the Jews - avoid them if you can, use them if it's convenient, stomp on them whenever you get the chance, and NEVER trust one of them as far as you can throw them! Same with the Brits, especially his kind! Stupid, Craig! So stupid!" Craig had ended up leaving the room, Tony still raging at the empty air. MP's were standing guard, making sure he didn't go anywhere til this was all sorted out.

Craig went back to his own room, quietly pulling the door open, then closed it behind him. "You doing alright," he asked, soft and low, into the dim light.

"Been bashed before, will be again. 'Ad a ruddy 'ard fist, though, I'll say that for 'im," came a rueful chuckle from the bed.

"Yeah, I could see that," moving forward to sit on the edge of the mattress. 

There was silence, then "I'm sorry . . ." came from both of them in unison, surprising a slight laugh from each man.

"You first," Garrison offered, "though I can't imagine what you have to be sorry about."

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to Casino better, for one, maybe just knocking on the door nice and loud. Just, once Marchant said you 'ad separate rooms, didn't think about 'im bracing me like that, and didn't want to wake the whole floor."

Garrison nodded, "like I said, nothing to be sorry for." There was a pause, and before Goniff could urge him on, Garrison started.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to Casino better too, about a lot of things. It's just, I couldn't believe it. I thought I KNEW him, Goniff. I listened to him downstairs, everything he was saying, about those years we were friends, and I never knew him, not at all." And he told Goniff all that had been said, what Garrison had remembered about the friendship, about those years, how Tony remembered those years as well. Somewhere along the line, a warm hand had clasped itself securely over his, a source of comfort Garrison hadn't realized he was needing.

"And I'm sorry I didn't come down hard when he started talking trash. I should have, I know that. It just seemed like a no-win situation, and with him due to be leaving so soon . . ." There was no answer to that; well, Garrison hadn't really been expecting one.

Til there was one, in a quiet, "that door locked, Craig? And the connecting one?"

And in the darkness, the words were spoken that Craig Garrison had intended to say that morning in the hallway, before they'd been interrupted.

"There was never anyone else, never anything more, not with any other man, not before you."

And a warm husky voice replied with a chuckle, "and did you think I don't know that, Craig? May 'ave my doubts about a lot of things, but never about that."

 

Epilogue:

In the end, of course, there could be no charges filed. Doing so would create too many waves, what with the Napoli Family working with the Allied High Command in the war effort. So Tony Napoli was brushed off and allowed to go on his merry way.

That would have given Garrison and the guys more than a few sleepless nights, except that one of those meetings Tony had been involved in was with a local Family. A Family that hadn't been too favorably impressed with a younger son of some far-off Family trying to come in and tell them what to do. Word was Tony had been shipped back home to his father in less than pristine condition, though presumably the undertaker had been able to tidy him up enough for an open casket. It couldn't have been an easy job, from the word on the street.

Still, the possibility of a gang war in retaliation was whispered, til the Napoli Family found they had problems on their own doorstep, and the Napoli Family lost their place in the scheme of things, and there was a new name being whispered along the grapevine, a name that supposedly had no interest or connection across the sea. No interest in or connection to Craig Garrison, Goniff Grainger or any of the others of his wild-card team.

Garrison had been unusually quiet after the news came down about Tony, and stayed that way for awhile. A couple of missions under his belt and he was more back to normal, but the holidays had brought a return of that quiet melancholy. 

Now it was New Year's Eve, and a dinner at the Cottage had been followed by an evening at The Doves. Singing had ensued, as it did frequently, and now, in the dimly lit pub, blackout shades in place, the old song was raised, first by Jake, the bartender, gradually others joining in.

 

Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
and never brought to mind?  
Should old acquaintance be forgot,  
and auld lang syne?

CHORUS:  
For auld lang syne, my dear,  
for auld lang syne,  
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!  
and surely I’ll buy mine!  
And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne.

CHORUS

 

We two have run about the slopes,  
and picked the daisies fine;  
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,  
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We two have paddled in the stream,  
from morning sun till dine;  
But seas between us broad have roared  
since auld lang syne.

CHORUS

And there’s a hand my trusty friend!  
And give us a hand o’ thine!  
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,  
for auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,  
for auld lang syne,  
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,  
for auld lang syne.

There was silence at the end, til the gentle murmur of whispers sounded, here and there around the room. And at Garrison's table, an understanding hand laid over Garrison's right one, gripping it tight, as he thought of an old friend, a treasured friend, who had perhaps existed mostly in his imagination. And a soft voice, showing his thoughts weren't exactly unknown, "at least part of it 'ad to be real, Craig. You can remember that part, treasure that. Don't let the rest destroy that memory."

And he smiled in the dim light, seeing the forms of those who were his friends now. Perhaps you never truly knew anyone else, not really. Perhaps you could only know what they chose to show you. But he knew he would never hear that song without picturing this moment, sitting at a small pub in wartime England, with the men who'd become so close to him. Oh, along with a Dragon with red hair, who had laid her warm hand on his left one, while his right was being sheltered by a blue-eyed blond who held not only his hand, but also his heart.


End file.
